Copper
by subseeker
Summary: A split second and Phil's world turns from being unspectacular to a nightmare as he finds himself fighting to keep the man alive who saved his life in the midst of a bank robbery. This is SheaPunk and AU. Will be a multi-chap and slashy :)
1. Chapter 1

Sooo, here we have my AU-first. Let's see if you guys like it ;)

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Shifting his stance, Phil yawned heartily and closed his eyes for a brief moment. He hated waiting. And he would have to wait for at least another ten minutes or rather six indecisive people long. So maybe the at least ten minutes would rather be at least twenty minutes. How complicated could it be to tell the lady behind the desk how much cash one wants to draw from the account? A difficult task to perform. Obviously.

The yawn trailed off to a resigned sigh as Phil's eyes found back to the line of people at his right. So much time wasted on waiting…

His gaze wandered along those people, towards the desks and his eyes stopped their travel as they found red hair. For the third time now. Somehow this nicely copper tinged hair was a nice distraction from the boredom. Red hair and broad shoulders was all he'd been able to make out. Well, that and the fact that the guy was quite tall. And he was actually a lucky guy, because this very moment it was his turn to… get some money. Or whatever.

Just as he wanted to wrench his eyes away from the redhead, there was a shift in the lines, giving him a free view on that person of interest.

_Oh._ The first thing that crossed his mind. _Oh, wow._ His second thought. _Hello, handsome._ His third thought. This guy looked too goddamn good and he knew what he wanted, obviously, because unlike all those other people it had taken him less than two minutes at the desk a now Phil wished he would just keep standing there a little longer. Only a few minutes, so he could gaze a little longer at the redhead.

But instead the redhead stepped between the lines and made his way towards the exit. He would pass Phil on his way out and Phil was torn between letting the chance pass or ask him out for a coffee. But how good were the chances that an eye-candy like this guy, who actually also was just the perfect height with perfect broad shoulders was interested in men?

And all those thoughts came to an abrupt halt as the redhead looked up and directly at him and because he wasn't a pubescent thirteen year old, Phil covered his surprise with a small smile. The smile he got in response wasn't one of those forced polite ones, but a real and nice one. Small and sweet. Sweet enough actually to make the redhead's eyes sparkle.

_Jeebus_, he thought, and if there had ever been a real doubt about if he should try his luck or not, that doubt was wiped away in a blink, because such a chance didn't come along every day. Or rather a guy like him. But… just as the redhead was passing him, Phil found himself unable to speak and fuck, for no apparent reason he felt a certain heat rise…

And then the world around him exploded in chaos.

Within a split second the air around him was filled with the sound of gunshots and screams and the last thing he knew before his world blacked out, along with a dull pain in his head, was that he was being shoved to the side and a massive impact, wiping him from his feet…

Dimmed sounds reached his brain, before he came round fully, but emerging from the blackness brought reality along. With a groan he tried to roll onto his side, while screams, loud voices and sobs, pained moans and wails rained down on him, but he couldn't move. Something heavy pinned him to the ground. The time until his dizzy mind caught up with the situation seemed to be endless but was nothing more than a couple of seconds.

The very moment he opened his eyes, he wished he just wouldn't have woken up. He was lying on his back and when he took a look to the side, he eyes found… motionless bodies lying in growing puddles of blood between panicked and scared people. The hall was a picture of destruction with holes in the wooden desks, shattered glass dividers and torn paper scattered all over the floor. And masked men, standing between shivering women and men, holding guns in hands. Like in a fucking bad movie. Only that this wasn't a movie…

A cold grip closed around his heart and panic ripped at his insides. This… this was a goddamn bank robbery…

For a long second he couldn't breathe, before his breathing suddenly sped up, coming close to hyperventilating as the panic in him grew and he tried to crawl backwards, but the weight was still pinning him down. Finally looking down on himself to see _what_ was keeping him glued to the floor, he could only stare for a long moment. Red hair. Broad shoulders. Lying half on top of him, sprawled over his legs. Phil blinked once. The other man's head was resting on his belly. Phil blinked again, slowly. The way the redhead was lying there, on his back, as if… as if he… had… shielded him? Blood was trickling from a gash on the other man's forehead and it was now that he realized that… there was no movement, too. There was no hint that the man was alive. Bringing a hand to the redheads neck, his fingers felt around to find a pulse, but he couldn't feel a heartbeat under his digits. There was nothing, there was…

… there was the faintest beating of a heart.

The sigh of relief that wanted to escape his throat got stuck in it as a muzzle appeared in his view, pointing at him. His heart sank and with a pang a queasy feeling flooded him.

"Move your ass to the back of the hall," a sharp voice barked and when Phil didn't react, the muzzle was pressed against his forehead. "Move!"

_This can't be happening_, he whispered in his mind, not daring to think louder as the cold metal stayed pressed against his skin.

Closing his eyes, he tried to wiggle out from under the heavy body. Eventually he felt the weight slip from his legs and the frightening feeling of the gun against his head vanish and with it his eyes opened again, dropping to the redhead's face. Bloody. Like dead. But there was still a pulse. He'd felt it. And then his eyes wandered to the other man's belly as he noticed a big, wet and crimson spot on the white shirt.

_Fuck._

Automatically his hands slipped under the redhead's shoulders to drag him with him to the back of the hall, as the muzzle was pressed against his temple.

"_Move. Your. Ass._"

The words were hissed, making his skin crawl.

"Please, I just want to…"

He swallowed hard as the metal dug deeper into his skin.

"He's dead. And if you don't want me to _blow your brain out_, you should move you ass over there! _Now_!"

He felt a certain dizziness, maybe because he wasn't breathing. Or was he? He wasn't sure. The gun that was poiting at his head got all his attention.

"He's alive and I'll take him with me."

The gun was being pressed even harder against his temple, hard enough the force his head a bit to the side. He waited for the bang of the shot. But nothing happened.

_Fuck, what the fuck am I doing here?! They'll fucking shoot me! _His nostrils flared as he tried to draw in some air. His eyes… were fixed on the constantly growing bloody spot on the shirt. _He took the bullet for me. I can't let him lie here to die alone. Fuck, I can't let him _die_._

"He's still alive," Phil whispered and he did his best not to flinch as someone stepped up beside the gunman, testingly kicking the redhead into the ribs.

There was no reaction from the unconscious man and Phil felt anger rise for having to watch the bastard do this, but he didn't dare looking up though. He was angry. But he was also scared as hell.

"Stop toying, man. Either shoot him or not. We don't have time for your personal fun," the newcomer muttered to his masked colleague, before turning around to leave again.

The muzzle was pressed even harder against his temple if possible, before it was drawn back. A soundless _ohgodthankyou_ passed his lips. And the red spot was still growing. Too fast.

"Today is your lucky day, motherfucker," the gunman hissed once more. "Make sure he keeps quiet or I'll take care of him. And you."

Tightening his hold on the redhead, Phil gave a curt nod and began to drag the heavy body towards the far end of the room. From the corner of his eye he noticed other customers and employees already sitting there, some more were still walking towards the sitting group. A shove against his shoulder indicated him to sit down. He did sit down, carefully easing the still unconscious man to the floor. And then the gunman walked off without another word.

For a minute, maybe two… he had no idea how long. Phil just sat there, staring at the lifeless face, feeling like throwing up… praying that this was just a nightmare and that he would wake up any second. But it wasn't a nightmare. This all was real.

It was a tiny twitch on the other man's face that shook him out of his thoughts and it reminded him that he needed to stop the bleeding, and so he slipped out of his hoodie jacket and leaned back against a desk, before pulling the still motionless body up until the redhead sat between his legs, resting against his chest. Carefully Phil pulled the bloody shirt up a bit. And once more he wanted to throw up. He wasn't a fucking doctor, but he didn't need to be one to know that this was bad. His hand wandered around to the back, searching for an exit wound. There was none. The gash on the forehead wasn't bleeding much, but it was close to the left eye and it had already begun to swell visibly.

Two bullets. This man had taken two bullets for him. Or rather one and the second bullet had grazed his forehead, had almost killed him. If the bullet had hit his head from a different angle, it wouldn't have left only a graze.

Bringing a hand up to the redhead's mouth, he covered is neatly… and pressed the jacket onto the belly wound and the groan of pain that followed got muffled by Phil's hand. Weak fingers clawed at Phil's legs, his arm.

"Sssh, I know it hurts, but you need to be quiet or they'll shoot us," Phil whispered close to the other man's ear.

The clawing stopped then and the hands slipped down to Phil's legs, where they came to lie almost as lifelessly as before. Almost. But Phil felt those hands tremble. Hesitantly he took his own hand away from the other man's mouth, sighed inaudibly as the only thing that passed the redhead's lips was a shuddering breath as the broad chest rose and fell in an unsteady, shallow rhythm.

The room had fallen more or less quiet around them, only disturbed by quiet sobbing and the sickening moans of injured persons. From where he sat, he could count six masked and armed men, three of them watching the group of hostages, while one man stood safely shielded by a big stone column, staring out through the big glass front. The other two men were standing close to him, also safely shielded by a columns and a massive wooden desk. And the faint sound of sirens indicated that cavalry was already arriving.

"Are yer… okay?"

The words were nothing more than a breath and it took Phil a second to process them.

"Yeah, thanks to you," he whispered back, gazing down at a strained and much too pale face and carefully he wiped a thin sheen of sweat from the other man's forehead. "You pushed me out of the way, didn't you?" There was a twitch around the other man's lips, a shadow of a smile, but it was gone as fast as it had come. So Phil had guessed right. And it made him feel deeply guilty. "Is saving other people's life your hobby?"

Another tiny twitch. This time the barely there smile stayed a bit longer.

"Me job… habit… I guess."

"Your job? What…" Phil began, but the whisper trailed off to a nothing as he noticed his personal gunman walk past them, pointing the gun at them.

"I'm… I'm a cop," the redhead breathed as the man was out of earshot.

"Well, we should keep that to ourselves, I guess."

The answer was a weak snort that dropped to a shaky breath and Phil was glad that the sounds around them were still loud enough to cover their whispering. The other man's head rolled against his shoulder until a clammy forehead rested against his chin. The copper tinged hair tickled his skin. A nice feeling in the midst of a disastrous situation.

"What's yer… name…?"

The hands which were still lying on his legs were still trembling, maybe even more than before and in a dark corner of his mind Phil wondered how long the other man would hang on… if he would get out of this alive. He hoped it.

Gently blanketing a trembling hand with his own free one, he replied: "Phil. Yours?"

"Stephen…"

The trembling eased a little under his touch.

"Thanks for saving my life, Stephen," he murmured, getting a barely audible _yeah_ in response. He had no idea why, maybe because he was really attracted to Stephen and was even more worried about his condition, but he added: "Promise me that you hang on until a doc can fix you up, okay? I can't ask you out for a coffee if you die in here."

For a long moment nothing happened and Phil thought that there was a chance that it had been a mistake to say it, that Stephen might be disgusted or whatever by the thought of being asked out by a guy, but even if it made him stay alive only to get away from him, Phil was fine with it.

Eventually Stephen whispered: "Yer… want to ask me out… for a coffee?"

The hand under Phil's wasn't pulled away. Either it was a good sign or Stephen was simply too weak. Phil decided to take it as a good sign.

"Not the time to be homophobic, Stephen."

Again a weak snort.

"Not homophobic… but I'd prefer… a beer." Phil was about to give a teasing reply about cops and beer, as Stephen's hand moved under his, turning palm up to close around his in a surprisingly tight hold, before he said: "I'm scared."

Stephen was tall, all muscles and he was tough looking cop. A guy you thought would barely be scared of anything. Phil would have been surprised if Stephen wouldn't have been scared, still… to hear it… was somehow shocking. Yet it also made him feel a bit better. And once more he felt guilty.

Gently tightening his own hold on Stephen's hand, he murmured: "I know. I'm, too. But we…"

He fell silent as he felt Stephen tense up, as he heard him mutter a _fuck_.

"What?"

"Tha guy…" Stephen whispered and Phil looked up to scan the room, finding his personal gunman standing there with a wallet in his hands, staring back at them. "Tha's… my wallet… with my badge…"

It took a second until the words sank into Phil's brain, causing his heart to trip as he understood what Stephen meant. A cold shiver ran down his spine.

_Fuck._

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**A review or two will be greatly appreciated :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Nooow, you see me very happy about you guys liking this story!

When the idea came to my mind I planned a one-shot. I ended up with this story having three chapters.

And now the plot-bunny left me another idea I could use for this story. I want you guys to decide after the third chapter if you want me to continue.

For now, enjoy this one :)

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Hour 1

"Tha guy…" Stephen whispered and Phil looked up to scan the room, finding his personal gunman standing there with a wallet in his hands, starin back at them. "Tha's… my wallet… with my badge…"

It took a second until the words sank into Phil's brain, causing his heart to trip as he understood what Stephen meant. A cold shiver ran down his spine.

_Fuck._

Everything narrowed on the man standing there, staring at them with eyes cold enough to make the world freeze, as Phil tried hard to keep on breathing. He felt Stephen press closer, felt the fingers which were wrapped around his own hold on to him tighter, before they let go.

"Yer need to… get away from me…" he heard Stephen whisper, felt him tug weakly at his hand which was pressing the jacket onto the belly wound.

Phil heard those words through a dull buzzing in his ears, just as he heard how Stephen's breathing became raggedly, a growing panic more than audibly lying in it. Stephen kept trying to pull his hand away and he heard him whisper again and again to get away, but Phil didn't. His hand stayed were it was. _He_ stayed were he was, because he couldn't and fuck, he didn't want to leave Stephen and with his own panic flaring deep inside him, he watched as the cold eyes narrowed, filling with glaring anger.

Within a few quick strides the gunman was right in front of them, pointing the gun at them and for an agonizing second Phil's heart stopped beating. He felt fingers dig into his legs for the briefest of moments, before the body in his arms went slack, almost as if Stephen surrendered. And absurdly enough his mind latched on the fleeting thought that Stephen smelled nice, like cinnamon, while his heart still refused to beat and his lungs still didn't draw in precious air… and those freezing cold eyes still stared in scorching anger.

"A last wish, motherfucker?!" the gunman hissed, throwing the wallet at Stephen.

It tumbled to the floor and fell open, revealing the golden badge which was gleaming traitorously in the lights of the ceiling lamps. Phil's gaze stayed glued to the man and from the corner of his eye he noticed the other people sitting beside them inch away. The gun moved to point at Stephen's head.

"Please, he is no threat for you," Phil heard himself say, heard Stephen whisper to be quiet but he wouldn't be quiet, just like he didn't care that he was _begging_. "He can barely move, he…"

"Shut your mouth, you piece of shit!" the gunman growled, panning the gun over to Phil's head, effectively silencing him with it.

The hair on the back of his neck raised once more, while his heart sank deep enough to get lost under the floor, causing a heavy wave of purest fear to roll through him, one that left him trembling. Still he gritted his teeth as he fought it down and held the cold glare in defiance.

"Come on, man… I'm the one yer want…" Stephen gritted out as he began to shift in Phil's arm, trying to move away from him somehow.

The gun swung over to Stephen's head again… the finger on the trigger twitching…

_No…_

It all was a thing of only a handful of seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Like a torturing slow-motion…

Phil's hand came up, pushing the muzzle away from Stephen's head. And then suddenly… everything happened so damn fast. There was a loud bang as the shot went off… hitting the desk right beside Stephen. With a curse the gunman swung the gun over again, this time pointing at Phil, who screwed his eyes shut, feeling a hard tug as Stephen grabbed his arms, pulling him to the side with a surprisingly quick and powerful movement. Splinters of wood rained down on them as another bullet hit the desk were Phil's head had been only a blink before. Somewhere someone screamed loudly.

And then, for a long second, the room was eeriely quiet.

Phil couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't _move_. His heart had stopped beating again and it felt like it would _never again_ _start_ to beat. His lungs burned from the lack of air. He waited… for another shot and the pain… but there was no third shot following, only a loud, booming voice telling the shooter to fucking stop and steps, coming over quickly. The two men began to argue…

He almost laughed at the relief that washed over him. _Almost_. The sick little sound got stuck in his throat as he realized… that the body he held in his arms was lying there lifelessly. Again. It made his eyes snap open, made him forget about the fact that there were two armed men standing not even a meter away from them. Bracing on an elbow, he let his eyes roam the much too pale face and brought his hand up to feel for a pulse. It was there, weak, unsteady. But good. It was good…

"I don't fucking care that he's a cop!" Phil heard the man who had come over to them hiss.

His personal gunman answered with a huff.

"I told you we don't have time for your fucking personal fun, man!" The words were spoken dangerously low and Phil kept his eyes on Stephen's face, not wanting to draw the focus back on them by staring at the two men. "The copper is as good as dead, so stop wasteing ammo!"

"But..!"

"No!" The low voice left no room for discussion and measured by the way the man spoke, Phil guessed that he was the boss. Brain… The low voice got quieter as Brain added: "Why are we here? Huh?"

"Henry…" his personal guman… Pinky, yeah, that matched… replied as quietly.

"Yeah, Henry, so stop this shit and do your job, bro."

With that Brain left, leaving Pinky behind who waited a moment, before Phil could see him step closer. With a hissed _copper_ he kicked Stephen in the stomach. The word drowned in the half-groan, half-cry that tore from Stephen's throat as the influx of pain brought him back to conciousness and there was a tiny movement, as if he wanted to curl up to a ball… but it seemed that he was simply too weak.

Pulling Stephen tightly against his chest, Phil finally looked up to Pinky, spitting a _bastard_ at him.

A dark chuckle came through the mask, but it stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

"We're not done, _copper-friend_."

Over the cold eyes cast a shadow, much darker than the chuckle had been and Pinky took a few steps backwards while pointing his gun at them again, never gazing away, before he eventually turned around and walked off. Phil's eyes dropped to Stephen's face, finding deep lines of pain etched into the handsome features and eyes, barely open and somehow distant. The broad frame was trembling heavily in his arms but Stephen was breathing so shallow that Phil thought for a second that he wasn't breathing at all. Sweat and blood stained the pale skin and… tears.

Leaning down to Stephen, he whispered: "Stephen? Look at me…"

There was no reaction. His eyes wandered down to the belly wound. It was bleeding more again. Cursing under his breath, Phil inched a bit away from the other man, pulled his shirt over his head and carefully slipped his arms around the broad chest. Struggling to pull the dead weight with him, he sat up again, bringing them into the same position as before. The stifled, pained cry Stephen gave and even more the whimper as the bunched up shirt was being pressed onto the belly wound caused a sting to Phil's heart.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, resting his forehead against the damp, copper-tinged hair.

"Yer… goddamn… idiot…" Stephen breathed, anger lacing into the barely audible words and desperation. "Do yer… want… to be… killed…?"

"No. No, I don't want to be killed, but I don't want _you_ to be killed either, okay?" Phil replied, trying to wipe the mixture of sweat, blood and tears off the other man's face.

A vain attempt.

Something close to a laugther dropped from Stephen's lips then, but it was a much too sober and aware little sound for Phil's taste.

"I won't… get out of this… a-alive anyway… so stop… stop throwing yer life… away…for me…"

"Don't say that," Phil muttered, his free hand seeking Stephen's to entwine their fingers, trying hard to ignore how cold the other man's skin felt. "I don't want to hear that, okay? You will make it out alive. I owe you a coffee."

"Not coffee… a… beer…"

A smile laced into those words as fingers curled weakly around Phil's... before Stephen sagged in his hold, any body-tension that had been left seeming to drain off him. The hand in Phil's went slack. His chest constricted, bringing a cold grip around his heart along and he wasn't sure what he would've done if it hadn't been for the shallow rising and falling of the other man's chest, telling him that Stephen was still alive, had only passed out again.

Never letting go of the lifeless hand, he brought their arms up to wrap them around Stephen's chest to hold him closer… and on to him, because right now it was this man who somehow held the constantly growing fear within Phil at bay. His eyes roamed the room, sweeping over people who were sitting, lying, cowering all around him, scared and sobbing, begging, praying… over Pinky, who stood a few meters away from them, doing _his job_ and Brain, who was back at his position behind that stone column.

Eventually his gaze dropped to his hand which was pressing the shirt on Stephen's belly wound. There was dark, dried and lots of bright and fresh blood on it. Too much? He didn't want to think about it, yet he could not not think about how much time Stephen had left. An hour? Two? Less?

"Don't die on me, okay? Don't do that," he whispered, willing this goddamn wound to stop bleeding. "You can't leave me here alone."

He really wished for the chance to get to know this man better, because Stephen was special. He felt that there could be more. A really good friendship or… _more_. If there was only the chance and time to allow that _more_ to show itself.

Dipping his head a bit forward, he nuzzled his cheek against the side of Stephen's face. Once again he noticed the nice scent of cinnamon. He'd always loved cinnamon. A scent of his youth, reminding him of the star-shaped cinnamon biscuits his mother used to bake at Christmas.

"You smell good…"

There was a quiet moan, telling him that the other man came round again.

"What…?" Stephen croaked, coughing lightly as his voice broke at the single word.

"I…" Should he really repeat that? But hell… why not. Any kind of distraction was a good distraction, wasn't it? "I said you smell good. Like my favorite biscuits."

Maybe not what a man wanted to hear, like, oh hey, you smell like my favorite biscuits my mother always baked. But he loved it, that scent, the memory it brought back. It was a comforting one.

A soft snort, another light coughing fit. They needed water…

Then: "Which… ones...?"

There was a small bottle of water lying not all too far from them, even in the reach of his foot if he would stretch a little, but he was afraid that if he moved too much, that he would hurt Stephen even more and draw Pinky's attention at them.

"Star-shaped cinnamon biscuits."

His eyes found his hoody jacket which was lying in a bloody heap beside them. If he would give the bottle a careful shove into their direction with his foot, then maybe he could throw the jacket over the bottle and pull it closer. He just needed to wait for the right moment.

"Like'em… too…"

Hating to let go of Stephen's hand, Phil pulled his hand away from the other man's and curled his fingers into the damp fabric of the jacket, while his eyes flicked over to Pinky, who met his gaze and even with a good handful of meters lying between them, he could clearly see the sneer in those cold orbs. And then Pinky turned away.

"I'll ask my mom to bake us some when this is over. How does that sound, Biscuit?" Phil murmured as he stretched his leg a bit to the side, fishing for the bottle, giving it a careful kick.

It worked. Quickly glancing over to Pinky again, who was still not looking over to them again, he threw the jacket and mumbled a _sorry_ as Stephen moaned quietly at the jolting movement. He slowly pulled at it and it worked again. He tried hard not to give the red brush marks the jacket left on its way too much attention.

"Did yer… just call me… Biscuit?"

For a moment Phil stilled as Pinky's gaze swept over the hostages, stopping briefly at Stephen, before resuming its travel through the room. Slipping his hand under the jacket, Phil closed his fingers around the bottle and sent a little prayer to whatever higher entity was up there.

"Yeah, I did. Want me to stop?"

"No… 's nice…"

Somehow he mananged to twist the cap off with two fingers. There wasn't much water left in the bottle, but a little was better than nothing at all.

Lifting it up to the other man's lips, he whispered: "Here, take a sip."

Stephen took a greedy gulp, weakly following the bottle as it was taken away.

"We gotta save some for later," Phil muttered guiltily at the sight as he recapped the bottle and hid it under the jacket. "You should rest, Biscuit."

There was a mumbled _yeah_ and a sigh as Phil once more brought their hands together.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, breathing the warming scent of cinnamon and with it he let himself drift off to the memory of star-shaped biscuits… and away from here...

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**A review or two would be very much appreciated, guys :)**


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you so much for the reviews, guys! Glad that I managed to make you hold your breath for the boys :3

Okay, there's something I gotta do before we start: *hands box of tissues to BrightAsNight*

Does anyone else want some tissues, too? ;)

Please read the A/N at the end.

And now: enjoy!

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Hour 2

His fingers searched for a pulse, while he kept his eyes closed, concentrating on finding a heartbeat. In the past hour he had done this over and over again, because the moments when Stephen wasn't conscious had become more often and it took him longer to come round again. He was getting weaker and his breathing was so shallow from time to time, that Phil wasn't sure if Stephen was still alive and so he simply needed to feel that the the other man was still with him.

For now he was. There was a faint rhythm against his digits, telling him that they had a little more time.

Carefully lifting the bloody bunch of fabric off the belly wound and pulling the blood-stained shirt a bit up, he checked the wound and maybe it was wishful thinking, but it seemed that the bleeding had lessened. Although he wasn't sure if it actually wasn't bleeding that much anymore because of the steady pressure he was giving on the wound, or because the bloodloss had been so massive already… and not to forget about internal bleedings… he settled for the pressure being the reason and so he quickly applied that pressure again.

Fuck, he wasn't willed to let Stephen… go. Out of various reasons.

A) Stephen was so absolute his type of guy, that he really wanted a chance to have a coffee or beer or whatever with him. B) This man had saved his life, twice, and he owed him. C) Adding to point A, he felt a certain something when he thought about Stephen, whatever that something was, and he wanted to find out _what_ it was. D) If Stephen died, he would be alone with himself in here and he wasn't sure if he could cope with that situation, because Stephen was like an anchor for him right now, keeping him from freaking.

Taking hold of Stephen's hand, he noticed that it had become even colder. With a sigh, he brushed his thumb over the cold skin and turned his face against a cold and clammy temple.

From where he sat, he could see Brain walking back and forth with a phone at his ear, heard that he was speaking, but not what he was saying. The fourth call now and he looked frankly pissed. Phil guessed that he was talking to the police and it made him wonder how long it would take until they got out of here… or until Brain would start shooting hostage after hostage. Pinky sure would love to start with Stephen. At least it was what he read in Pinky's eyes, every time he passed them.

The change in Stephen's breathing was subtle, but Phil noticed it nevertheless and it itched a tiny smile out of him.

Gently nuzzling his cheek against the other man's temple, he whispered: "Hey, Biscuit. Good to have you back."

A short pause followed, due to a moment of being disorientated on Stephen's side or maybe he needed to gather some strength to speak. But the hand Phil was holding moved, weak fingers curling in a barely noticeable hold around his own. Not a _glad to be back_ he guessed, because being back meant being in pain and who would want that? Maybe it was more a _glad you're here_. At least it was what Phil wanted it to be…

"Did something… happen…?"

Not much more than a breath.

"Big boss over there is on his fourth call, guess with your colleagues and he's not amused."

Stephen's breathing sounded choked and it sent a freezing chill down Phil's spine. It was getting worse…

"M-money…?"

"Can't hear him, but I don't think so. After Pinky tried to shoot us, Brain mentioned someone named Henry when he talked to him. So maybe they are here to get that Henry-guy back in exchange for the hostages?"

"May... maybe…"

A weak coughing fit ripped through Stephen, tearing pained moans from him in between.

"You think they'll get what they want?"

"Depends on… why tha.. guy's… jailed…"

Phil's eyes swept through the room and there was that voice in his head that muttered that he didn't fucking care what that Henry-guy had done, as long as Brain got him back and they got out of here alive.

"Why don't they try to shoot them?" Phil muttered as he noticed how carefree Brain and his gang were walking around by now, almost demonstratively.

The police had a perfect view on them through the big glass façade…

"Bulletproof glass…" Stephen rasped. "Think… building… will be… stormed…"

Another coughing fit and this time Stephen seemed to have problems to breathe at all. Phil hated it. He fucking hated that he couldn't do a fucking thing to lessen Stephen's pain, to make this easier for him.

No one was looking over to them, so Phil took the chance to give the other man some water and once more it made him feel bad to take the bottle away from him when he wanted and needed more. But there was just one sip left now.

He almost dropped the still open bottle as Stephen reached up, fingers sliding into Phil's hair and this simple, innocent and soft touch caused a _something_ to bubble in his chest, leaving him to blink in confusion.

"Thank yer…" Stephen whispered and Phil felt the hand in his hair begin to tremble. Quickly recapping the bottle and putting it back into its hiding place, he put his own hand on Stephen's, holding it there and he was about to say that there was no need to say thank you, as Stephen added: "Yer… yer should ask me... now… if yer want an answer… before it's too late…"

Phil blinked once more, even more confused. One second, two. And then it sunk in.

"No. I'll ask you after a doc has fixed you up and only then, so you'll have to hang on, Mister."

He felt Stephen shake his head no ever so slightly and he knew what the other man was about to say and he didn't want to hear it. For a while fear and panic had simmered on a somehow bearable level, because he had been focused on the man lying in his arms, but this now was a drop that fueled both again. His heart quickened its pace…

"Won't… make it…"

_Fuck, no!_

"I don't want to hear that. You _will_ make it. Dying in here is not an option, you hear me?"

"Phil…"

"You can't leave me here alone, Biscuit. Please don't do that," Phil practically begged, desperation seeping into his words. "Promise me…"

A sigh. A guilty little sound.

"Can't…"

Phil knew all too well that Stephen couldn't promise him to stay alive, yet it was what his heart demanded. To get a chance to get to know this man better. And… not to end up on his own in here.

"Then fucking lie to me, Biscuit…"

Another sigh with a few deeper breaths following and Stephen's voice was surprisingly steady as he spoke again.

"I promise yer to try to hang on until a doc can fix me up. Okay?"

Payback followed immediately. A pained, breathless groan left Stephen's lips and his arm sagged, but Phil caught it, lowering it gently.

"And yer…" Again a groan, low and Phil could almost _feel_ the pain. "Promise me… to find a safe place if… they storm the building…" Pause. Strained breathing. And Phil shifted the body in his arms a little, very carefully, until he heard the breathing become a little easier. "If hell breaks loose… don't try to save me ass."

Quietness. Because Phil wasn't willed to promise that, but the lack of words from his side was answer enough for Stephen. After a few seconds he felt the other man roll his head against his shoulder again, an unspoken _no_ while his name was being whispered in something close to desperation.

The damp hair tickled his naked shoulder, his neck, the side of his face… it shouldn't feel that nice… right now. Later, when all would be good again, he wanted to feel this again and then he could savor this feeling without tasting bitter guilt on his tongue.

Again his name was whispered.

"Either we get out alive together or we go down together. I'm not gonna watch you die."

"Yer… goddamn idiot…" There was annoyance, but it wasn't biting. More helpless. "Throwing yer life away for… someone yer… know for, what… two hours?"

Reaching up, Phil gently smoothed over the red hair. Stephen never saw the crooked little smile on his lips.

"Says the one who stepped between me and a gun without knowing me at all," he replied fondly because, yes, with every passing minute, no matter how much horror surrounded them, he felt himself more and more attracted… and attached... to this man. "You promised me to hang on, Biscuit."

"Yeah… I did…"

"And the doc can only fix you up if I make sure you stay alive until then."

They fell silent then and in this silence Phil began to wonder… if there was someone out there waiting for Stephen and if… was it a woman? Or a man? He had no idea if Stephen was into men at all. Just because he'd been smiling back at him before the shooting happened or because he was okay with sitting like this, being touched like this… with being called Biscuit by someone who was practically a stranger… wasn't a hint that he was interested in men. Oh, well… or maybe… it was? He could simply ask him… but he didn't have the guts. He wanted to believe for a little while longer that he had a chance…

His musing led to the next question. What would happen after they got out here? This now was a thing of special circumstances. Nothing was normal and in a situation like this it wasn't surprising that one didn't act rational and suddenly a stranger became the most important thing in one's life. But when all was over and good again, would they be strangers again? Or... not?

It was a loud curse, ripping through the relative quietness of the room, that made him snap out of his thoughts and he even felt Stephen flinch, heard him stifle a moan and what Phil saw as he looked up and over to Brain was a raging man who hauled a phone against the next wall. The small device shattered, the pieces falling to the ground with an accusing clatter.

"Looks like he doesn't get what he wants," Phil murmured and the sight of an enraged Brain was… alarming.

_Fuck…_

Thightening his hold on the man in his arms unconciously, he watched as Pinky walked up to Brain, saw them talk for a moment, before their eyes swept through the room. Over the hostages. Phil's chest clenched as it began to dawn on him what would happen next.

Only a heartbeat later Pinky's gaze fell on them… but before Pinky got the chance to do what was written in his eyes, Brain walked over to someone, kicked that person and hissed to them to get up. A young woman.

And maybe Phil shouldn't have been that glad, that goddamn relieved about that this very person would have to suffer, not them, but he was. _He fucking was_.

Brain grabbed the woman by her hair, tugging her closer, before shoving her towards the glass front. _Go_. The single word hung heavy in the air as the room seemed to freeze.

The woman walked over to the window very slowly, trembling so massively that Phil could even see it from here and although she tried to stifle it, he could hear her sobbing. She was not even a meter away from the glass façade anymore as he saw Brain move, watched as he lifted his gun…

The shots rang deafening loud through the room. The woman was jolted forward and her cry was cut off as the bullets hit her in the back, practically crashing her against the pane. With a sickening, twisted sound on her lips he sank down to her knees, her fingers clawing at the glass, before she fell lifeless to the ground.

Phil willed his breathing to stay calm and his eyes to gaze away, but he could not _not_ look at the spider-web like cracks the bullets had left in the bulletproof glass, or the bloody lines on it which led down to the motionless body on the ground.

The eerie nothing that followed was crushingly heavy, choking. It wasn't a silence, more an emptiness, as if shock and freezing cold reality about what had just happened and would be happening now had swept any kind of hope away. There was a stifled, fearful cry somewhere in the room as a phone rang on a desk and the ringing somehow seemed much too loud. Brain looked around, obviously searching for the right phone and walked over. The call though remained unanswered. A minute or two, before the phone rang again.

Phil couldn't see Brain from where he sat, but he heard a terrifying laughter that sent a chill down his spine, leaving the dark urge, need behind to get up and run, run away as fast as he even could, out of here and hide in a corner.

"We need to get out of here," he whispered, more to himself than to Stephen, as he gazed around to find a way out of this room.

"Don't be silly," he heard the other man whisper back. "They would shoot yer… the moment yer… yer move and I… I doubt tha I would get far…"

"They'll shoot us anyway…"

He fell silent when the ringing stopped and Brain's voice cut through the room.

"Ten minutes," the man said, the tone sharp and clear. "From then on I'll shoot a hostage _every fucking minute_!"

The call was ended. And the countdown… started… and with it Pinky began to walk along the line of hostages, pointing at women and children who were dragged closer to the glass façade where they had to sit down, perfectly visible to the outside world.

"We… we could try to get to the backdoor and…" Phil breathed, trying to lean to the side to gaze around the desk they were sitting in front of, but he stopped as he realized that he caused Stephen pain.

"Yer really think… tha they… don't have someone… guarding the backdoor?"

He knew how silly it was to hope that they actually could sneak to a backdoor and get away from here, but this was going too fast and in the wrong direction. He'd hoped that Brain would get what he wants or… whatever. And time ran. Fast. And while the line of hostages in the back of the room thinned out, the number of people close to the glass façade became more and every single person was nothing more than a passing minute. And Phil saw it. He saw how Pinky glanced over to them again and again.

"Phil…" A hand on his arm which was holding the broad frame close, feebly wandering over it, covering his own hand. Weak fingers slipping between his. "The SWAT… yer need to stay… down… when the SWAT storms… the building." Stephen moved his head against his shoulder, bringing his mouth closer to Phil's ear. "Glass dome…" Not even a breath.

Glass dome? Glass dome… Light, falling down on them. Daylight. Automatically Phil dipped his head a bit back, looking up to the ceiling and the glass dome under which they were sitting. He hadn't even noticed it. So Stephen thought the SWAT would come in here via the glass dome... A tiny voice in his head told him to fucking not gaze up and draw attention on it because… hadn't there been a shadow up there?

"You!"

It was Pinky's voice. His gun was pointing at them and Phil had known that it would happen. Pinky had waited for this…

"Let's see if they'll listen if one of them gets his brain blown out!" With the gun still pointing at them, Pinky kicked against Stephen's leg. "Get up, cop!"

_No. Nonono…_

"He can't," Phil said quickly, but then Phil felt his hands being lifted from the other man's body, felt him move to… get up.

"Take care…" Stephen said hushed as he once more lifted a hand away that wanted to hold him back.

"Stephen, don't…"

His head was pushed back hard against the desk behind him by the muzzle of the gun which Pinky pressed against his forehead. Don't move and keep your fucking mouth shut it said but oddly enough the feeling of the cool metal against his skin didn't scare him as much as it had the first time. He didn't even look at Pinky. His eyes stayed fixed at Stephen.

And Stephen fought. Against the pain and probably against passing out, fought to fucking get up from the ground. If possible, he was even whiter than before and the bloodstains on his face, his arms… the blood seemed glaring in contrast to his skin. His handsome features were contorted in pain. Somehow he had managed to get his legs under him, kneeling there while bracing on shaky arm and he was panting, his breath raspy and choked and…

… and Stephen turned his head, locking gazes with him and in those blue eyes lay something Phil couldn't even name, but it ripped his heart to pieces.

"Get up or he's dead!" Pinky snapped at Stephen, pressing the gun harder against Phil's forehead.

"He can't," Phil repeated quietly, because he knew Stephen wouldn't be able to stand on his own.

His heart made a decision and his head didn't complain, because this was about getting out together or going down together. He'd said it himself and he meant it. So… so it would be going down together then.

"He can't walk on his own," he said, watched as those blue eyes widened. "I'm coming with him."

Stephen shook his head no, but Pinky was obviously okay with it, because the gun was pulled back, giving the way free. Calmness settled over him, maybe because this would find an end now. Crawling over to Stephen, he wrapped his arms around the broad back and told him to hold on to him, ignoring the other man's words not to do this. Eventually Stephen fell silent. The broad arms circled Phil's neck…

For a brief moment Phil was sure that they wouldn't manage to get up from the floor, that he wouldn't manage to take Stephen's weight but somehow it worked and they straightened up and began to walk, although only slowly and on unsteady legs and always with the gun digging in the back of his neck. Into Phil's grunts as he fought to keep them both on their feet laced stifled moans of pain.

They hadn't come very far as the phone rang again. It was a short call and it ended with Brain saying that the time was over. Brain pushed away from the desk he was leaning against to walk over to the group of women and children, grabbing a girl, maybe sixteen, by her hair to pull her up from the ground. Her screams and those of her mother were bloodcurdling. The ten minutes were over.

Phil dropped his gaze to the ground as Brain shoved her towards the glass façade, just like he'd done with that woman before. A shot ripped through the room.

… 59… 58… 57…

A light breeze touched his bare back, sending goosebumps to flare over his body.

… 44… 43… 42…

Somewhere behind him something dropped to the floor with a dull, metallic sound. He watched as Brain spun around. And for the second time today… hell broke loose. Within seconds the air around them was filled with smoke and once again screams, shots and in a partly broken glass panel he saw the fading reflection of dark silhouettes, practically falling from the ceiling.

_.. glass dome… SWAT…_

His mind screamed at him to bring them both down to the ground and out of the line of fire, but the gun pointing at him told him otherwise. His heart raced, bringing a buzzing in his ears along that blocked everything else out and a paralysis that filled him, until he couldn't move anymore. He couldn't even move as he felt a hard push that sent him against a table and Stephen slipped out of his hold. There was another push and suddenly Pinky was right in front of him, dragging him along… hiding behind him as he used him as a living shield.

_Stephen…_

… was gone.

_No!_

"Fuck, _no_!" Phil screamed, his voice foreign to his own ears, strangely distorted due to the biting smoke that made it hard to breathe and with that scream on his lips he jerked his elbow back, sending it right into Pinky's side and the man staggering back.

But the moment of surprise didn't last long and as Phil spun around to run back and find Stephen, he looked right into the muzzle of Pinky's gun. And his heart stopped beating.

"Too slow, motherfucker," he heard the man growl.

The smoke around them had become so thick that he could barely see two meters far and it surrounded them like a wall which only let those terrifiying sounds seep into this small space. Squaring his shoulders he met the cold sneer with defiance. He wouldn't give this man the satisfaction to break down now and die as a sobbing mess. Oddly enough that calmness settled over him again.

The finger on the trigger twitched…

The shot was loud. Blood… all over him. But there was no pain. For a long moment time stood still, showing him the image in front of him like a still life. Pinky's head… wasn't a head anymore. What Phil saw there was a bloody mass of skin and flesh and bone. And then time came rushing back with a clash and the body in front of him collapsed.

Blinking slowly, he gazed left and right… and found Stephen, standing there with a gun in his hand, leaning shakily against a desk. Relief was written in his eyes. Eyes which were screwed shut suddenly, the handsome face once again contorting in pain. The gun dropped from Stephen's hand.

And then Phil watched as the other man's knees gave out, watched him slide down the desk and he closed the distance of not even two meters in a blink, wrapping his arms around Stephen. The weight pulled him down mercilessly, until he kneeled on the ground with Stephen half kneeling, half sitting between his legs, leaning heavily against him. One broad arm was loosely holding on to Phil's middle, while his face was buried against Phil's neck.

Phil should have been relieved that Stephen was alive, that this was over now, but he wasn't, because the other man was barely breathing anymore. Bringing a hand up to cradle Stephen's head against his shoulder, he sat there, staring in horror into the slowly fading smoke and at the silhouettes it revealed. Lifeless bodies. The noise around them had lessened, too, was filled now with voices barking commands, cries and sobs, but no more shots. There were tall figures walking through the semi-veiled room, checking on the lying and sitting persons.

He tried to breathe, but his lungs burned from the smoke and the cold grip around his chest didn't let him draw much needed air. Air that smelled of smoke, gunfire and…. blood. Sickness coiled up in the pit of his guts. There was the faintest of tremblings running though the body in his arms, as if it was one last struggle against… it.

"You promised to hang on," Phil said, trying to come up with a tone that left no room for discussion but he failed miserably.

There was no answer.

"Biscuit?"

He blinked back hot tears as he brushed over the red hair, tightening his hold on the trembling body and flinched as he felt a hand on his shoulder. A masked man hunched down beside him. A member of the SWAT team who asked him if he was okay. Fuck, no. No, he wasn't.

"He needs a doc," Phil rasped and his voice broke as he added: "He's dying…"

The man spoke to him again, told him that a paramedic would be here any moment. His eyes closed on their own accord as his fingers searched for a pulse, willing it to be there like it had been every single time before when he'd been searching for it. And it was. A weak, oh so weak rhythm.

"Biscuit? Come on, I know you can hear me…" A breathless moan. Not much, but a reaction. "Don't do that. Don't die on me, okay?"

He gazed up, looking for help and his eyes fell on two paramedics, making their way towards them and although they were almost running, it all seemed to happen in slow-motion.

"Would you go for a beer with me?" Phil said, doing his best to keep his voice steady.

For a second or two there was no answer, but then…

"… yeah…"

Barely a breath. The broad chest… didn't rise anymore. The trembling which was running through Stephen died away and the arm around Phil's middle slipped to the ground as Stephen sagged in his hold. And the faint rhythm against his digits… stopped.

"Biscuit…" he whispered, giving the body in his arm a gentle shake. Nothing. "Stephen… _Stephen_…"

Again there was a hand on his shoulder and someone was talking to him, telling him to let go… and then he felt Stephen's weight being lifted off him. He saw as the paramedics lowered Stephen to the ground, began with the reanimation. He knew he had to let them do their job, he knew it, but everything in him cried to follow. Hands stopped him, pulled him up from the ground. His eyes… stayed fixed on Stephen. And those hands began to steer him away, but he fought against the hold, wanted to stay and watch those eyes open again.

He fought, while he tried hard to draw air into his burning lungs and his heart pounded too fast, bringing heavy dizziness along and the last thing he knew before his world blacked out was Stephen's name, dropping from his lips… echoing through his mind…

x

With a sigh on his lips he ran his fingers through his hair, storing his phone away. It could have been a perfect day… with a bright blue sky and some fluffy little clouds, with a golden and warm sun shining down on the world… but it never reached Phil, couldn't seep through the somber mood that lay over him.

Three months. Three months had passed now and ever since he… his life... had come to a halt. Oh, he did live but he had stopped _living_. Getting up every day had become… difficult… because all he wanted was to lock himself in his apartment and hide away from the world. But every day he forced himself to get up and go to work. Somehow. But it was getting more and more difficult. He couldn't go into a bank anymore and stepping into other public buildings was difficult, too. There was always this feeling sitting in the back of his neck that made him gaze around panicked, searching for a sign that _it_ would happen again.

A few days ago one of his collagues had stormed into the office, wearing a silly Spiderman mask. The next thing Phil remembered was that he had been crouching down, hiding under his desk…

The doc he went to every once in a while had told him that he was bordering on a depression and that he really needed to go to a psychologist and talk about what had happened and the effects it had on his life. He couldn't. Not now, not yet.

And then there was… Stephen.

He still could hear him breathe that _yeah_… and he could still feel him sag in his arms, feel his breathing… and his heartbeat... stop

His arms felt so empty. And not only his arms… The medics had taken a part of him with them as they brought Stephen away. If he only knew if Stephen was alive… Phil had tried to find him, had called every goddamn hospital and every bloody police department, but no one had given him an answer. I'm sorry, sir, we're not allowed to give you any kind of information.

How could it be that he missed someone he didn't even really know? How could it be that it felt like a part of him was missing? How could it hurt so fucking much?

Why couldn't he simply stop caring if this man was still alive or not?

Gosh… and here he was, wanting nothing more than to see Stephen one more time, see that he was okay. Talk to him. A few words would be enough. He would even be happy with a single _hello_.

Fuck, no… he would be happy enough to know Stephen was okay. But he did not know it and it was… bad.

So often he'd been sitting wrapped up in a comforter on his couch, staring out into the night while wondering how it would have been. If they would have become close friends? If there would have been a chance to be more than just friends? Or if there would have only been an awkward exchange of polite words and a good-bye?

But a small and naïve part of him still believed that there would have been a chance for more…

"Biscuit…" Phil whispered softly as his mind graced him with the memory of that first smile Stephen had given him, that sweet, little and so beautiful smile.

His eyes swept over the pavement, taking in the familiar cracks in it he had seen uncountable times, telling him that he was almost home. Shifting the grocery bag in his arm, he fished for his key and looked up, his gaze falling on the stairs which led up to the house. His steps slowed down until he came to a halt. The grocery bag dropped to the ground as his arm fell to his side. And he blinked in purest disbelief.

The copper-tinged hair shone brilliant in the sunlight and those blue orbs sparkled in joy. The smile on Stephen's lips was as bright as the sun as he stood up from the stairs, slowly walking down to meet him.

The faint scent of cinnamon washed over him like a soft breeze, banishing the somberness. And for the first time in weeks he could breathe again. For the first time in weeks he felt… good. A happy smile tugged at his own lips, one that emerged from a dark corner deep within him and he felt a suspicious burning in his eyes as broad arms looped around his back and his neck to pull him into an embrace. His name was being said so very softly and this voice he had longed to hear again soothed over his poor little heart like tender fingers.

And for the first day ever since he felt… alive…

* * *

**A/N**

Now, when I started this story, I planned on making it a 3-chapter-thing. But after voices asked me to continue this, I did.

**This story continues in: Lifeline**


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